


The Hidden War

by ceresilupin



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen, Kid Fic, Minor Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Minor Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Dedue Molinaro, There will be Plot, not sure where this is going yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27099199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceresilupin/pseuds/ceresilupin
Summary: Set about ten years post-game. An unexpected delay heralds the resurgence of an old enemy.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Posting as I write, let me know if you spot any typos/etc. Will update characters and pairings as they appear.

Dimitri didn’t remember waking up, just the mild confusion that came when he found his wife’s side of the bed empty. That alone wasn’t a cause for alarm; he rose, yawning, and located a robe as he tried to remember whether she was supposed to be home yet. Sluggish with sleep and absent-minded thought, he shuffled barefoot into the rug-covered hall and started towards the dark lavatory.

But for reasons he couldn’t explain, he stopped halfway and turned to Lidia’s room instead. Like her brother at the same age, she was an early riser. He half-expected to see her awake and playing with her dolls in bed, illuminated only by the soft glow of her nightlight and the early dawn. Instead, he found her room empty.

He stopped, hand still on the doorframe, and checked again. Liddy’s blankets were rumpled but her bed was empty, and her toys were still boxed away for the night. The drawers tucked beneath her new, big-girl bed were still in place, which meant she hadn’t pulled them out and wiggled in to sleep inside them again. Her closet door was open and empty moonlight splashed across the floor, revealing no energetic five-year-olds whispering to themselves as they played pretend.

She wasn’t hiding. Dimitri forced himself to stop, to breathe -- something was sparking behind his eyes -- and checked again. No, she wasn’t hiding. She simply wasn’t there.

“Your Majesty?”

Dimitri clenched his jaw savagely to avoid lashing out, and felt the wooden door frame splinter a bit under his hand. But when he turned to face Sylva, his expression was calm. “Yes?”

Sylva was smiling a bit mischievously, gesturing for him to follow. “Her Highness had a bad dream, I’m afraid,” she said confidentially.

Dimitri rubbed his face, pushing his hair out of the way as he felt his heart start up again. “She didn’t wake me….”

Sylva cracked open the door to the prince’s bedroom and stepped aside so Dimitri could take her place. At the sight that greeted him, he exhaled hard, either in amusement or relief, and felt his shoulders slump.

Lidia and Georgios were both fast asleep in the older boy’s bed, one dark head and one blonde peeking above the blankets. Georgios, steady even in sleep, was curled on his side and hugging a lion stuffy, sweet face pressed demurely to the pillow. Liddy, in contrast, had shoved her own pillow to the floor and had one leg flung off the bed, one arm thrown over her brother, and was snoring on her back.

At least she wasn’t on the floor, as she so often was these mornings. Her ability to sleep soundly even after falling out of bed mystified them all, but Dimitri couldn’t quite bring himself to wish her cured of the habit. It was a bit too entertaining.

Sylva was watching him; Dimitri made an effort to hide the hint of panic still coursing through his veins and smiled. “Well, that’s adorable.”

Sylva giggled, and they stood side-by-side for a moment, watching the children sleep. After a short while, Dimitri let himself into the bedroom and lifted Lidia into a more comfortable position, closing her mouth and tucking her pillow beneath her head. She grumbled and kicked, but Georgios didn’t stir even when her foot collided with his knee.

Dimitri smoothed back the girl’s unruly blonde hair, kissed his son on the head, and returned to the hallway. Considerate Sylva had taken up her post at the end of the hall, granting him some privacy. She smiled sympathetically as he shut Georgios’ door behind him.

“Getting an early start, Your Majesty?”

“I suppose I might as well.” Dimitri gave her a smile and a nod. “Thank you, Sylva.”

Sylva half-bowed. “Of course, Majesty. Shall I send down for some breakfast?”

“Not at the moment, thank you.”

Strangely, his head still felt clouded with fog, perhaps the lingering traces of some restless dream. He did his best to carry out his usual morning routine, still wondering how long until Byleth returned from her trip to Fraldarios territory. Perhaps her visit to the Gautier refugees had run over; he wouldn’t be surprised to find that she had stopped to clear out the bandits plaguing the area, or some other humanitarian mission.

With the lavatory door securely closed, Dimitri splashed water over his face and closed his eyes against the flickering candlelight. Lidia was fine. Georgios was fine. Whatever had woken him was a nightmare, nothing more. Byleth would be home soon.

He avoided his eye in the mirror and carried on as usual.

~

When he returned from his first meetings of the morning, he found the prince and princess still in lesson with their tutor, their morning snacks waiting at the table. According to Sylva’s report, exchanged over coffee and tea with her replacement and her king, they had overslept after staying up too late telling stories. After a bit of discussion, all three agreed that her nightmare, if it had existed at all, had not been too serious. Most likely it had been an excuse to wake her brother up and attempt to wrangle him into trouble. Fortunately Georgios was much too fond of his rest to be so easily cajoled, and he had eventually tricked her back into sleep instead.

Sylva and Galvin exchanged their goodbyes, and the guardswoman took herself off to a well-deserved rest while Galvin took up his post outside the library. Dimitri split the remainder of his break between his breakfast and the reports he’d brought with him, smiling occasionally at the sound of Lidia’s excited voice, ringing through the Royal Suite like bells. He couldn’t hear Georgios attempting to shush his little sister, but didn’t need to. He could imagine it perfectly.

~

Noon finally brought him the chance to see his waking children, although the castle was still notably empty of the Archbishop’s presence. Accompanied by Dedue and a few hangers-on, Dimitri entered the dining room to a happy shriek and collision with a small, blonde missile.

Laughing, Dimitri flipped the princess upside down and draped her over his shoulder, containing her wild kicks with easy experience. Prince Georgios regarded him skeptically, but permitted himself to be greeted with a kiss on the forehead, his soft _good morning_ drowned out by Liddy’s happy shrieking.

With Dedue to manage the crowd and Dimitri to manage the princess, they were all seated and eating quickly. Lidia insisted on occupying her father’s lap and tasting everything on his plate (all of which was too strongly-flavored for her, as usual). Georgios sat at his side and ate silently, watching the adults converse at the other end of the table with startling, sea-green eyes.

“What have you two been up to, today?” he asked, when he wrangled Lidia into accepting a small plate of her own food.

“I painted a picture!” Lidia informed him immediately, elbowing him in her haste to face him. “But you can’t see it yet!”

“Oh, I see.” Dimitri pointed her in the correct direction. “Did you use the paints from Uncle Ignatz?”

“Only some of them! I’m running out of blue though, Papa, I need more.”

“Only blue? Did you use any other colors?”

Liddy made a sour face.

Smiling, Dimitri turned his attention to his son. “How about you, little lord? What have you been working on?”

Georgios shrugged. “Nothing,” he mumbled, his small, serious face a perfect replica of Byleth’s. As usual, he had a book with him, but he obediently turned his attention to his father when speaking. “Can we go to the training grounds after lunch?”

Dimitri smiling, ruffling his hair with one hand and attempting to feed himself (and avoid Liddy’s grabby hands) with the other. “You know that’s up to your tutor. What do you have scheduled?”

Georgios shrugged and scowled. “Just math. We can skip it.”

“Eh…” Dimitri was no disciplinarian, which both children knew well. Fortunately, their tutor was.

He was saved from having to answer by Lidia. “Papa?” she tipped her head back to stare up at him, probably granting herself an excellent view of his nostrils. “When will Mama be home?”

Dimitri gave her a gentle squeeze and looked to his steward for more information. Nico checked his appointment book. “My last communication from Lady Ingrid suggested they were leaving the Duke’s territory early this morning. Hopefully they should be home before dinner, my lady.”

Lidia whined. “That’s too long! It doesn’t take that long!”

Dimitri attempted to direct her attention back to her plate before she could ask what was causing the delay. “Focus on your lessons and time will pass quickly,” he advised. “Nico, what else do I have scheduled for today?”

Nico began reciting his schedule, and Liddy’s interest in the conversation evaporated immediately. Dimitri’s natural tendency to fret was neatly spiked by Liddy’s ongoing attempts to feed her brother (he just frowned and leaned away) and tell them all her funniest jokes (all of which they had heard before). Nico gently insisted that he meet with the Duke of Oche despite the lack of positive news regarding his mining contract, a meeting that threatened to swallow his afternoon and possibly his evening, given the man’s ability to be difficult.

Dimitri’s brief attempt to calculate what could have interrupted Byleth’s trip home -- Lidia was correct in saying that the journey from Fraldarios to Fhirdad should not take so long -- dissolved into nothingness in the face of such distractions. He would have to trust Nico’s judgement.

~

Dinner smelled enticing enough that even Dimitri felt his mouth water, but the sight of Dedue in armor, axe in hand, saw his stomach turn. They met outside the library, the children still finishing up their lessons inside.

“Dedue?”

“I am taking a small group to assist Lady Byleth’s return home,” Dedue reported. “The city watch believes she may have been stalled in the mountain pass due to the recent rains. A scouting team has already gone ahead to Huthwaite Bridge.”

Dimitri felt ice trickle down his spine. “Dedue--”

“There is no cause for alarm,” Dedue said steadily. _Not yet,_ the grim twist to his mouth added _._ “Her Majesty traveled on horseback, after all, and sent her messenger owl ahead when leaving Fraldarios’s capital. She is likely just delayed.”

“She doesn’t like the armored wyverns,” Dimitri reminded him. “They scare the refugees.” Not that Dedue needed him to tell him either of those things. “Dedue--”

“All will be well, Dimitri. I will find her and bring her home before nightfall. You must stay here and manage the palace affairs.”

Dimitri scowled. “Keep me updated.”

Anyone else would have agreed to do so, and then lied, managing the information he received for his own good. Dimitri’s tendency to worry excessively was an open secret among the palace guard and servants, and most of the time his fretting served no useful purpose. He knew that. Dedue knew that. _Everyone_ knew that. There was no good reason to worry.

Just plenty of bad ones.

Dedue simply nodded. “Mercedes will maintain magical contact with the palace,” he promised.

That alone stood testimony to how serious Byleth’s delay was, but belabouring the point would help no one, least of all his wife. With a nod, Dimitri stepped aside and sent Dedue on his way. In the resulting silence, he stood still and attempted to fit an expression onto his face. Something, anything, so as not to frighten the children.

In the end, he was left to hope he looked preoccupied instead of grim, and let himself into the library without a backwards glance.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *suspense*

It wasn’t the first time Dedue had searched for a missing convoy. Supply lines were maintained well during the war, but afterwards, when tensions turned internal and nobles returned to their petty conflicts as usual, those who traveled the roads were left to make their way alone. For all his experience, however, it was easy to forget how  _ large _ the spaces marked demurely on maps always turned out to be. Hills and forests, small clusters of trees or boulders, even large patches of scrub and overgrown fields -- all could contain vital information, some footprint or discarded object that would point the way forward. Or not, if they were missed or overlooked.

It didn’t help that the Queen’s convoy was so much smaller than most. When the King left the palace, he was accompanied by a small army of guards, servants, scribes, not to mention the noble members of his court, all of whom trailed their own parades. In contrast, the Queen preferred to travel as lightly as possible. At her husband’s insistence, she always had at least one royal knight with her -- usually Ingrid -- and at her chief aide’s insistence, she always had at least one holy knight. Two bodyguards was not nearly enough for an Archbishop, or a Queen, let alone one who embodied both roles -- but Byleth was Byleth, and as good as a small army in her own right. And as she had pointed out more than once, a larger traveling party meant a larger target.

Dedue had bade goodbye to the Queen four days ago, and she had been accompanied by Ingrid, Shamir, and Marianne when she left Fhirdiad. According to the letter she’d sent by owl, she had asked Marianne to stay behind and continue assisting the refugees, and she usually sent Shamir to scout ahead when traveling with the former mercenary. That meant that, if worse came to worse, Byleth had faced an enemy with no one but Ingrid at her side.

Of course, Byleth had defeated any number of fearsome enemies singlehandedly, and the only thing stronger than Ingrid’s devotion to the crown was her lance arm. But attempting to track a pair of experienced soldiers across the muddy fields of Faerghus was no small task.

At a gesture from Mercedes, Dedue brought his mount to a halt at the crest of a small hill, granting them a view of the surrounding landscape. At some magical signal that he couldn't perceive, she sent up a flare that turned into a speaking charm, with a ghostly thread of magic leading to the north. It passed through some trees and a few hills with a flicker, but there wasn’t enough interference for the connection to break.

A moment later, Dorothea’s voice emerged from the light in Mercedes’s palm. “There you are,” she said, pleased. “I trust you’ve encountered no difficulties?”

“None, thank you, Dorothea,” Mercedes said. “Are you and Ashe all right?”

“We’re fine.” She paused. “I think we may have something,” she added. “But it’s not good.”

Dedue frowned at flickering light. “Details.”

“What is it, Dorothea?” Mercedes asked anxiously.

“It looks like Shamir was ambushed,” Dorothea explained. Dedue guided his mount closer, listening intently. “There are a few of her arrows stuck in some of the trees, and at least one went straight through the enemy.” Dorothea was far too experienced on the battlefield to be disturbed by such a minor thing, but Dedue could hear the grimace of distaste in her voice nonetheless. “But there are no bodies.”

Dedue felt his frown deepen. “I have never known Shamir to meet the enemy bloodlessly in combat. You are certain there are no bodies?” A body -- as long as it wasn’t that of a friend -- would be a blessing in their information-starved state. The only thing worse than chasing a convoy through the wilderness was doing so blind.

Ashe’s voice came through the speaking spell. “There are signs of some magical fires. I think the bodies were burned. At least one was, anyway. There’s, ah … well”

Relief at the sound of Ashe’s voice warred with new tension. “Shamir?”

“I…” Ashe swallowed hard. “It’s impossible to tell. There isn’t enough left. But I don’t think so. I mean, it’s Shamir, right?”

Mercedes winced and shivered. Dedue rested a hand on her shoulder. “Understood. Your location?”

Dorothea passed the information along to Mercedes who took diligent notes on her map. Once they finished, Dedue ordered Ashe and Dorothea to hold their location and gestured for Mercedes to follow him, kicking his mount into a trot.

Mercedes’ breathless voice sounded from behind him as they picked up speed. “Dedue? Should we alert the palace?”

Dedue frowned, calculating times and the trajectory of the sun, attempting to determine whether the prince and princess were likely abed. He could shield them from their worries, at least for a while. There would be no shielding the king.

“Not yet,” he finally decided. “Not until we know more.”

~

Late afternoon crept into evening, and then night, as they followed the Queen’s trail away from Fhirdiad. They encountered further signs of conflict -- more of Shamir’s arrows, a fallen tree where the Sword of the Creator bisected enemy and environment alike -- but no signs of the women themselves. No bodies, either, although there were traces of magic flames. After investigating the fallen tree and the burned vegetation surrounding it, Dedue hypothesized that the bodies of the Queen’s enemies were alighting after they were killed, to which Dorothea and Mercedes agreed. A strange new magic, but not the strangest they had ever seen.  


Ashe split his time, scouting ahead and climbing trees, then falling back and reporting to Dedue hastily before darting off again. When it came time to report to the palace, Dedue ordered him to stay back and guard Mercedes as she spellcalled in. Ashe looked like he wanted to argue, but he was winded and covered in small scratches from rogue branches and leaves. He relented with a sigh.

Without their scout, he and Dorothea traveled as quietly as possible. But the dark was thick and Dorothea’s light dim, and so it was that he had no warning before a blade flashed to his throat.

Dedue recoiled, hands flying to his axe, but Dorothea’s cry stopped him. “Felix!”

The blade moved away, and Dedue looked down. Sure enough, the silent shadow that had crept up on him was none other than Duke Fraldarios himself. Felix pushed back his hood, shaking back his hair, and sheathed his sword.

He grimaced. “Didn’t know a big guy like you could be so quiet,” Felix muttered, which was probably all Dedue was going to get by way of apology.

Dedue rubbed his throat, making sure the skin hadn’t been nicked. “Your Grace.”

Felix pushed past him. “What have you found? Report.”

At a glance from Dedue, Dorothea recounted their findings. After a moment of pacing and glaring, Felix led them onwards, eventually bringing them to a cluster of armored soldiers and a familiar red-haired woman. Annette was seated astride a white mare and murmuring into a speaking spell watchfully; at the sight of Dedue and her husband, she gasped and guided her mount forward. “It was you! Oh, thank the goddess you’re here, and you're all right.”

Dedue inclined his head respectfully. “Your Grace.”

“So much for the ambush,” Felix said in an aside to Annette. To Dedue and Dorothea, he added, “Near as we can tell, your people are the only ones within a kilometer of here. I take it the other two are Ashe and Mercedes?”

“Correct.” Dedue accepted the reins to a dark stallion, a handspan taller than any other mount in the area. It would carry his weight, but he would need to remember that the beast was unarmored; his own mount had been left under the care of a landowner in a passing village, as the day wore on and the animal’s fatigue became critical. Dorothea’s own mount hurried to Annette’s side and the women clasped hands, murmuring concerns and comforts in a hushed exchange.

“We’ll wait for them to catch up.” Felix hoisted himself into his saddle easily, still issuing a flurry of orders. “Clodagh, Matylda, go on and scout ahead. Your battalion?” He looked to his wife.

“A few kilometers into Itha territory,” Annette reported briskly. “No traces yet, but they’re heading into the mountains and won’t be able to maintain contact much longer. The Count extended his blessings but is unable to send reinforcements.”

Felix grimaced again. “Very well. Tell your mages to hold their position. You, and you.” He pointed to a pair of armored mages. “Spellcall the Margrave and the palace to pass along what we’ve learned. Tell Sylvain to fall back and guard the border to Sreng -- we must assume they are attempting to kidnap the queen.” He turned to his right-hand man. “Tayyib, be prepared to move as soon as the others arrive. No delays.”

Dedue remained still at the duke’s side as his men bowed and hurried to carry out his orders. When it was clear Felix had no more rapid-fire commands to issue, he ventured, “I did not know there was such a spell to detect the presence of others nearby.”

Felix gestured to Annette. She shrugged sheepishly, smiling. “Oh, it’s just something I’ve been playing with. I wasn’t sure it was working until I sensed your presence, really. Not that I knew it was you, of course.”

“In that case, I am surprised you allowed His Grace to approach us alone,” Dedue commented. “We could have been anyone.”

Felix side-eyed him, clearly debating whether to take offense at the insinuation he could have been in danger. Annette leaned forward to squeeze his hand. “He  _ is _ the most cat-footed among us,” she said proudly. “Besides, he was only a short distance away. Even Felix can’t get into that much trouble that quickly.”

Felix rolled his eyes.

Dedue heard voices as Ashe and Annette encountered the battalion’s outriders and were directed to Dedue’s side. At a word from Felix, they picked up their earlier trail, mages with light spells distributing themselves evenly throughout the group. The duke guided his sleek black mare to the front of the group, eyes scanning the dark forest restlessly.

“Oh, it’s so good to see Felix,” Mercedes said, for all that he had completely ignored her presence. “I’m sure we’ll find the Professor now. It’s only a matter of time.”

An uneasy silence shivered through the group as they were reminded of their mission and their missing queen. Annette tried to smile and issue a chirpy agreement, but the tension in her jaw betrayed her. Dorothea just shook her head.

Ashe guided his gray gelding to Dedue’s side and touched his elbow. “You’re alright?”

Dedue let himself relent slightly, lowering his voice for Ashe’s ears alone. “Well enough,” he said. “Was there any word from the King?”

Ashe shook his head. “Just to keep searching and reporting in. The engineers believe that they may be entering Gautier territory soon, if they’re traveling at top speed.”

Who ‘they’ were, exactly, was an unknown they all carefully avoided addressing. Every indication suggested that Byleth was free and fighting, but if so, then why was she following the enemy? If they were retreating, let them retreat. The Queen’s absence from the palace was not an emergency, but twenty-four hours without word from her certainly was. Did they have some method or leverage to compel her obedience? Would she stop soon and report in, or maintain her reckless pursuit?

Dedue clasped his husband’s hand. “All will be well,” he promised, echoing his earlier words to the King.

Unlike Dimitri, Ashe clearly believed him, or at least he tried to. “You’re right,” he agreed, smiling, and the dark seemed to grow a bit lighter. “Everything will work out. I’m sure of it.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I think I know what's going to happen now! It's nice when that happens.

The lashing of branches and the cold whistle of wind had become something like monotonous when Shamir felt Byleth grab her shoulder _hard_. “Enemy ahead!” she snapped, and without another word, vaulted herself off the back of the horse and into the undergrowth.

Shamir would have seen the Knight on her own, but not until she was nearly on top of him, especially at this speed. With Byleth’s warning, she was able to yank the reins and sidestep the slashing blade, although she did feel something yank at her leg. Her mount continued forward, slowing as she steered it into a half-circle, and her enemy stepped into the moonlight.

Like the others they had faced so far, he wore light armor designed to mimic their old foe, the Death Knight. All of the strange knights had all been inhumanly strong and fast in melee combat, but moved strangely slowly on foot, tentative and unsteady. The few patches of skin left visible by this one’s armor were mottled red and purple with bruises and visible surgery stitches.

The trees were too tightly clustered for Shamir to bother with her bow (likely why their foe had chosen this ambush point). Instead, she drew her sword with her right hand and a throwing dagger with the left, kicking the horse into motion as she let it fly.

Naturally, it bounced off the knight’s armor, and he blocked her experimental swipe easily. Shamir felt back a few paces, leading him further into the light, and drew another throwing dagger. Another limping, lurching step put his back to the path Shamir had been traveling upon minutes ago -- the path, and the invisible figure hidden in the brush beside it.

Byleth surged from her hiding space with nary a sound; the Knight spun -- that extraordinary speed again! -- and his massive, two-handed blade chopped air and foliage with a whistle and a thunk.

It cut nothing of Byleth but a few locks of green hair. She somersaulted easily over their enemy’s head, the Sword of the Creator slicing downwards like a striking snake. By the time her feet touched the ground, now between the enemy and Shamir, the Knight’s head had already separated from his body, rolling across the grassy sward. His body hit the ground a moment later without so much as a twitch of a shudder.

Byleth rose from her kneeling crouch and sheathed her sword. Shamir tucked her own blades away. “That was quick,” she commented. “Mount nearby?”

Byleth pointed her towards a small ravine. Sure enough, just like the others they had faced, the Knight had left his mount tethered nearby, another startlingly docile horse. Shamir dismounted, and her poor beast -- ridden hard and relentless throughout the night, first by its owners and then its enemies -- darted away, sweat-streaked, stiff-legged, and foaming at the mouth.

Her current target displayed no alarm at it’s fellow’s current state. When Shamir untied it from the branch, it followed her trustingly, prompting her to grimace. She wasn’t one to get sentimental about animals, but treating these horses so roughly felt wrong. And yet, she reminded herself, she would feel worse if something happened to Ingrid because of their dawdling, and so she schooled herself to ignore the pang of guilt.

When she returned to the clearing, Byleth was still frowning over the dead Knight. She had pried a few pieces off of his armor, exposing his pockmarked and scarred skin to the moonlight. Shamir averted her eyes.

As she drew closer, Shamir realized Byleth was doing something to a piece of the armor. The chestplate, it looked like. A screech of metal on metal made her wince, and then she was in position to look over the Archbishop’s shoulder.

 _Far Water,_ it said.

Shamir frowned. “You think that’s their location?”

“I am almost certain.” For such a deadly and dangerous woman, Byleth’s voice was startlingly soft and sweet, her green eyes doe-like. “I can see the trails of their communication spells sometimes. They could be going towards Pernrith or Aeberythey, but … Far Water just feels more likely.” She frowned.

Shamir shrugged. “Need a hand up, Your Majesty?”

Byleth accepted the offer absent-mindedly, hauling herself behind Shamir on the saddle. The horse danced uneasily for a moment, clearly unused to two riders, but even the two of them together weighed less than an armored knight. After a moment of fussing, the horse started forward.

“They will have an ambush prepared in Far Water,” Shamir said, a few minutes later. “Or at least reinforcements. They’re running out of meat to throw at us.” After a few minutes to warm up, she urged their mount to go faster, picking up speed in the star-speckled night.

Byleth murmured assent. She didn’t seem worried about whatever the enemy might throw at them, but Shamir felt less certain. She did _not_ want to be the knight who stood by while the Archbishop got herself killed. “Right on the border. I wonder if that’s a clue, or mere misdirection?”

Shamir grunted, and kicked the mount into a trot. The dark woods stretched on, endless in all directions, but Byleth seemed to know the way forward. She pointed, and Shamir -- like everyone else -- followed.

~

As his dark room began tinging blue with pre-dawn light, Dimitri finally abandoned hope of sleep and sat up, sitting hunched on his half of the bed. At this time yesterday morning, he had expected to see Byleth soon, within mere hours. This morning, he wondered if she was dead, and what he would do if so.

With a sigh, he turned his back on Byleth’s cold pillow. That kind of thinking was nonsense -- there was no good reason to expect that Byleth was even seriously injured, let alone dead. It was _Byleth,_ after all, and all of the reports he received indicated that she had been waylaid by a small handful of opponents, not nearly enough to take her down. But if that was so, then why wasn’t she home?

Now that he was upright, Dimitri felt real fatigue tugging at him. He was tempted to crawl back into bed and finally sleep a little, but he knew better than that. To sleep late this morning would only worsen his insomnia tonight, until he started skipping sleep entirely. The troubled years after the war had taught him how hard he could push himself before he started slipping into darkness, and sleep-deprivation was the quickest and easiest way to reach that point.

Dimitri tugged on fresh clothes and let himself into the hall. A quick glance confirmed that the double guards assigned to Georgos and Lidia’s rooms were still in place. They bowed respectfully, but made no move to greet him, keeping their attention on their tasks.

A splash of cold water did nothing to make him feel more awake, but hopefully it rendered him somewhat presentable. Cleaning his teeth and brushing his hair was a familiar routine, one that prickled at him, as if Byleth’s absence was a window that had been left open, cold air gusting erratically through the Royal Chambers and sending chills over his skin. He rinsed and spat, then took a moment to stare into the basin, thinking nothing at all.

Eventually Dimitri left the washroom and headed towards the sitting room, the entrance manned by another pair of guards. “Your Majesty?” one murmured, bowing in tandem with the other. “Your guests arrived in the night and have been shown inside, per your orders.”

Dimitri nodded, only to come to an abrupt halt as he saw who was in his sitting room. He had expected Dedue’s second-in-command, the staid and dependable Captain Bhalli. Instead, a familiar bulky figure sat at the small, elegant table by the window, accompanied by Dimitri’s expected guests.

“Your Majesty.” Gustave levered himself upright with a hand on the back of his chair, bowing deeply before Dimitri could wave him down, as he always did. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dimitri always thought of Gustave as old, but comfortably so; older than his father, younger than the grey-hairs who sat on his council. Secure and stalwart, old but not an old man. But of course, his father would be fairly aged by now, were he alive, and Gustave’s many battles were catching up to him at last.

“Sit, Gustave, please,” Dimitri said, hurrying to his side. “I am surprised to see you, but glad. Has there been word from Annette?”

“A few reports,” Gustave said. He eased himself back into his chair, patting Dimitri’s elbow fondly. “Not much has changed, but I will update you shortly.”

It was too much to hope that Byleth had been found in the past five minutes and no one had thought to tell him yet. Sighing, Dimitri turned his attention to his guests.

“Your Majesty.” Seteth inclined his head precisely the right amount, no more or less than etiquette demanded, but his voice was a few shades warmer than usual. Flayn didn’t bother with the formalities, darting around the table to squeeze Dimitri in a hug.

Dimitri could only laugh. “It’s good to see you too, Flayn,” he said.

  
She pulled back to smile up at him and snag his sleeve. “I’m sure she’s all right, Your Majesty,” she said hurriedly. Her eyes were alight with desperate urgency -- not out of fear for Byleth or her mysterious circumstances, but simple desire to reassure him and the clear fire of pure conviction. “I’m _certain_ of it. She will return to us in no time, you’ll see.”

Dimitri smiled, resting his hand on her head. When he had first met her, she had been a bit young for the Academy, but not so young that her presence in the class felt like a kid tagging along with her older siblings. All these years later, she seemed somehow younger, like the child she hadn’t been back then, but of course she was not. She was exactly the same age, her hair barely grown a centimeter longer. Dimitri was the one who had changed, or at least his perspective of her age had. Georgos wasn’t really that much younger than she appeared to be...

“I know that you’re right,” he sighed. He let Flayn guide him to the sitting table, illuminated by the blue light from the window and the warm orange glow of fireplace and candlelight. “And yet I worry. Still, it is good to see you.”

She smiled widely, patted his arm, and darted back to her own seat. Seteth waited for her patiently, eyebrow slightly cocked.

“And you, Seteth.” They exchanged handshakes, and Dimitri ushered everyone back into their chairs, taking the spot beside Gustave and directly across from Seteth. “Please, be seated. Hagen--”

His footman hurried forward, signaling for servants to emerge from nearby. “We’ve prepared a light breakfast for you, Your Majesty, sir knight, honored Lord and Lady. I understand you enjoy _laks og eggerøre_ from our northern neighbors, Lady Flayn?”

Flayn lit up at the sight of smoked salmon and sardines. “Oh, yes! Thank you so much, this looks wonderful! Doesn’t this look delicious, brother? Oh and look, the little fishes! They’re so cute, I can’t wait to eat them.”

“It does indeed look delicious.” Seteth allowed himself to be served a small tray, selecting another cup of tea when offered. “You always treat your guests well, Your Majesty. I fear Flayn may become an all too-frequent visitor at this rate.”

“Hey!”

As Flayn and Seteth bickered, a maidservant brought Dimitri his usual order without preamble. Someone had thoughtfully provided a small painkiller potion alongside a cup of strong chamomile tea, which made him smile. He tipped a few drops into the amber liquid and sipped as Hagen continued the niceties, and then ushered the servants from the room. The breakfast cart was left by the table, piled with extra servings of Flayn’s special dish and an array of fresh fruits and breads.

When they were alone, Dimitri sat his cup down. “Thank you again for coming, Seteth,” he said, less formally now. “You must have ridden all through the night to arrive so quickly.”

“Not quite all night,” Seteth demurred politely. “And you, Your Majesty? I hope His and Her Highness were able to sleep restfully.”

Dimitri waved his concern aside, and realized he was bouncing his right leg anxiously. He forced himself to plant his heel on the ground, and kept his voice level. “They were fine after a few false starts,” he said absently. “It’s not uncommon for her trips to run over, after all.”

“That is good,” Gustave said. His own breakfast -- nearly identical to Dimitri’s, the same one he remembered Lambert and Gustave sharing at this very table decades ago -- was disappearing quickly, the rapid, orderly eating habits of a soldier, not a noble. “Annette and His Grace met Dedue’s team shortly after midnight last night, and have been traveling with them since. The trail has grown clearer and it seems that the enemy is abandoning the pretense of subterfuge.”

Dimitri tapped his fist against his right knee, shifting to sit a bit more comfortably in the metal chair. “That must mean Byleth is getting close.”

“Very likely.”

“They must be panicking,” Flayn observed, her round, friendly face turning hard and cold. “Good. Is it possible they didn’t know what they were getting themselves into, when they attacked Her Majesty?”

“It seems difficult to imagine,” Seteth said. “If nothing else, their target would have become immediately obvious when she began fighting with the Sword of the Creator, and it isn’t as if there is an abundance of green-haired women to start with.” He and Flayn exchanged brief, sad grimaces. “No, they must have known what they were doing. Which begs the question of how they were stupid enough to make the attempt, and yet capable enough to pull it off.”

“Annette and Mercedes’s reports indicate the presence of strange magics,” Gustave said. “Flames that seem to eradicate the bodies of the fallen without spreading, and residue from powerful crest spells. But the urgency of the chase have prevented more thorough examinations.”

Seteth gripped his chin, slipping into grim thought. Dimitri turned his teacup 45 degrees on its plate, and then took another obedient sip when he felt Gustave watching.

Flayn served herself seconds from the breakfast cart, also lost in thought. When she turned to Dimitri, he realized he was staring slightly past her into space and tried to blink the trance away.

“Dimitri,” she said. “Do you remember … oh, when was it! Arianrhod? Or Fhirdiad? I never thought it would be possible for the memories of _battles_ to run together like this. It seems the kind of thing that ought to be remembered clearly forever….”

Seteth nudged her with his elbow. “You were saying?”

“Oh! Right. Do you remember those strange mages we saw? They wore odd masks and seemed a bit apart from the Imperial troops. But they were powerful spellcasters, and Catherine said they were quite strong in combat.” Flayn scraped her eggs into a tidy pile and loaded up her spoon. After a bite, she added, “I always intended to try and learn more about them afterwards, but, well…”

“I … vaguely recall something along those lines.” Dimitri rubbed his chin and realized he’d forgotten to shave; ah, well. Everyone at the table had seen him in far worse shape than this. “I assumed they were mercenaries, or some secretive Imperial strike force.”

Seteth pushed his plate aside. “Were there any indications this was the case, after the war?”

“Hm. Nothing that reached my ears. I can think of a few others who might know, however.”

Gustave stirred briefly. “I do recall Annette mentioning magical experiments conducted by the Empire. Hanneman consulted her about some of his findings and was quite excited. But it was during the Eastern Insurrection and your attention was … elsewhere, Majesty.”

Dimitri snorted at this palpable understatement. “Indeed,” he muttered. “Where is Hanneman, anyway? I heard from Byleth that he left the Academy a few years ago.”

“Yes, he wanted to investigate something in Leicester territory. Near Fodlan’s Throat, I believe.” Seteth drew a finger across his lips thoughtfully. “He was quite diligent in his correspondence for a while afterwards, although it seems that life caught up to him eventually. Someone or other mentioned that he had attained a position with House Gloucester. His Crest research bearing fruit, no doubt.”

Something pinged gently at the edge of Dimitri’s awareness, like the quiet that gripped the royal chambers when the children were preparing some fresh mischief, or the uneasy awareness of unaccounted-for movements on the battlefield. Something he was overlooking.

He sighed and shook his head. “I see. I will reach out to House Gloucester in any event. I believe Lorenz will also know more about the Empire’s forces during the war as well.”

Everyone nodded agreement at this decision. For a moment, the silence was broken only by the sound of Flayn’s cutlery and the birds in the courtyard. Dimitri turned to peer out the window, tracing the familiar shapes of Dedue’s flowers in the warming dawn light.

When he returned his attention to his guests, Gustave cocked an eyebrow and looked pointedly at Dimitri’s teacup. Smiling slightly, Dimitri sipped to make him happy.

Flayn flopped back in her metal chair, sighing happily. “That was so delicious! I love visiting you, Your Majesty!”

“See?” Seteth said archly. “She’ll be setting up camp in no time. You should prepare your kitchens.”

Flayn hopped up from her chair and pretended to put Seteth in a chokehold, although it turned into a sweet kiss on his cheek when all he did was laugh. Dimitri smiled at them silently, lost in wistful thought for a long moment, and then drained the last of his tea decisively.

“I must see to this morning’s tasks,” he said, pushing his chair out. “Seteth, Flayn, please make yourselves comfortable -- the chambers you occupied previously have been prepared for you again. Seteth, I would have you accompany me when Captain Bhalli makes his report, if you are amenable. The Archbishop’s status is of course your direct concern.”

“Of course.” Seteth inclined his head respectively. “I am at your service.”

“Gustave, I hate to ask more of you when you’ve already done so much--”

Gustave shook his head. “Think nothing of it. I came to the palace this morning that I might be of assistance to you.”

Dimitri relented, rubbing the back of his neck. “Would … would you be willing to stay with Georgos and Lidia today? Their guards are as well-trained as can be and the palace is secure, and yet I would feel better if you were there.”

Gustave smiled slightly. “I had hoped to spend some time with the prince and princess. I would be happy to, Dimitri. Thank you for giving me the opportunity.”

Dimitri gripped his shoulder tightly. “Thank you, Gustave.” He stood. “Please let Hagen know if there’s anything you need. I will be in contact soon.” He shook his head when they would have made to stand and bow, with a particularly stern look at Gustave, who seemed quite amused by it all.

He could hear Flayn selecting from the fruits and sweetbreads as he saw himself from the sitting room. He found Nico waiting for him outside, prim and proper despite the earliness of the morning. He had Dimitri’s schedule in hand, and it already looked busy.

Dimitri gestured him forward. “What do you have for me, Nico?”


	4. Chapter Four

Around noon, when they stopped to rest their mount after encountering no enemies for hours, Shamir started to have her suspicions. Things began well enough, especially after the hectic chase so far. She found a creek and they filled their bellies with clean water and rations (or grass, in the horse’s case). Byleth used her healing magic to ease the horse’s tired muscles in the interest of getting them all moving again, and soon, and then sat in the sun for a few minute’s rest.

It was then -- when Byleth laid her head on her knees and closed her eyes, rubbing her temples wearily -- that Shamir started to wonder. It was unlike Byleth to show her discomfort, particularly in the field. But surely even Byleth tired, at times, and perhaps Shamir had simply never noticed because they were so often surrounded by noisy, demanding others. At a tentative word from her bodyguard, Byleth was back on her feet and buckling her sword belt into place, and so Shamir dismissed her concerns as the sort of sentimental fretting she was usually staunchly against.

But as twilight crept into true night, Shamir was forced to begin worrying again. Byleth’s arms around her waist tightened suddenly, painfully, her slightly weight coming to rest fully against her back. Shamir slowed their mount to a canter. “Archbishop?”

Now that it was quieter, she could hear Byleth breathing roughly. Concerned, Shamir attempted to peer over her shoulder. “Byleth?”

Byleth’s spring green eyes seemed to roll back into her head, and then she startled awake with a gasp. “Shamir?”

Shamir brought their stolen horse to a halt. “Byleth, are you all right? You’re pale and shaking.” Now that she was looking, Shamir could see that she was sweating as well, enough to leave pale tracks in the dirt and grime that had built up after two days racing through the wilderness. She resisted the urge to do something really missish, like feel her forehead for fever.

Byleth took a deep breath. “I’m fine,” she said tightly. “Why have we stopped?”

“Because you almost passed out and fell off the horse,” Shamir said flatly. “You need to rest.”

Byleth shook her head, face settling into familiar lines of grim determination. “Later,” she said. She saw the doubt on Shamir’s face and relented somewhat. “Once we have Ingrid back. We can’t afford to delay, Shamir. Keep going.”

Shamir hesitated, staring at Byleth’s pale face, but she saw no room for compromise. And Ingrid….

Jaw clenched, Shamir turned forward. “Go,” she ordered the mount, kicking it into motion. The poor creature huffed but picked up its feet obediently, as conditioned to follow its rider’s orders as Shamir was Byleth’s. At her back, Byleth relaxed and leaned against her, still shivering.

With a grimace, Shamir reached back and grabbed a fistful of her jerkin, just in case she started to pass out and fall again. Byleth didn’t protest, just rested her forehead against Shamir’s shoulder, and that worried her most of all.

~

The chase continued throughout the day and into the night. They passed along word of Byleth’s message, and reinforcements were mustered from a Gautier fort when the Duke of Itha proved more interested in empty platitudes and gossip than action. Dedue and the hunting party -- as they had come to call themselves, often referring to Byleth as their errant scout -- met Sylvain at the foot of Mount Sanlow as the moon began its rise.

The newly titled Margrave was harried and grim, as he so often was these days, but he managed a smirk at the sight of his friends. “You all look like shit,” he said frankly.

Annette squawked in outrage, looking about for something to hit him with, but allowed Mercedes to laugh and stop her with a hug. They pulled Sylvain in as well when he would have stood aside and watched, hands linked behind his neck. Over their heads, Dorothea returned Sylvain’s questioning glance with a cool smirk. When she saw where his attention was directed, Annette pulled back and thumped him upside the head, which made Dorothea laugh.

“Ow,” Sylvain grumbled, good-naturedly enough. “Anyway, I have news for you lot. Want the bad news or the good news first?”

“Who cares,” Felix said, as everyone else chorused  _ bad news _ . Sylvain shrugged. Even as the Margrave began his report, Dorothea led her mount and the other horses to the makeshift stables, seeming not to notice the way his eyes followed her. “All right, fine. Bad news is that we haven’t been able to get eyes on the Queen yet, but we think we’ve spotted the group she’s pursuing. It looks to be about two platoons, maybe three. They probably started out with a full company, but the Professor has been picking them off pretty steadily while chasing them across Northern Faerghus. They have mages, of course, and at least one flying squadron -- they’ve been chasing my men off if they get too close.”

“Casualties?” Dedue asked.

Sylvain gestured for the hunting party to fall in line, Felix on one hand and Dedue at the other. Annette, Mercedes, and Ashe trailed behind, directing the battalions they had brought with them and intercepting runners and anyone else who might interrupt. “Injuries, no fatalities. I don’t have enough flying units to mount a full attack, obviously. Most of my forces are stationed throughout the mountains and needed where they are -- Sreng hasn’t been so kind as to take the day off.” He paused for a moment. “Too bad they didn’t try this in Galatea territory. Enough pegasi to chase them all the way to Adrestia, if needed”

“Hm,” Felix muttered. “Any indications as to what this is all about?”

“From a few hundred feet in the air, and while under fire? Not likely.”

Sylvain led them to the center of the village, and what looked like an inn that had been commandeered by his troops. Food had been set out in preparation of their arrival, and Felix and Annette’s men were already descending upon it with moods suddenly and vastly improved. Ashe appeared at Dedue’s elbow with a pitcher of water, which he accepted gladly. Annette, who had brought her husband a roll he was devouring like some heavily-armed chipmunk, managed to eat her own rations tidily as he passed his updates along to her and Ashe, to be further disseminated amongst the troops.

Ashe and Annette did not stay, hurrying off to meetings with Sylvain’s scouts and mages instead. Dedue tried not to look too forlorn, watching his husband depart, but Sylvain elbowed him nonetheless.

The hotel’s main room had been turned into a staging area for the troops, now full of noisy soldiers eating like their lives depended on it, but there were a few benches set aside from the chaos. These, Sylvain led them to, and gestured for them to sit. More breakfast awaited them here, and unlike that served to the common soldiers, it was warm and fragrant, with meat, eggs, and sweetbread.

“So that’s the bad news,” Felix finally said some time later. Sylvain had claimed one bench for his own, leaving Felix and Dedue to sit side-by-side, their plates balanced on their knees as they ate. “What’s the good news?”

“Oh, right,” Sylvain said. “I almost forgot.”

“Promising,” Dedue commented.

Sylvain shrugged. “We’re going to have reinforcements from the palace at Far Water. There’s a fort on the border with some high-powered mages who were able to set up a warp spell or two. They should be arriving soon -- within the hour, actually -- and will be riding to meet us there. Fully armored and kitted up.”

“Thank the goddess,” Felix muttered. He wiped his face with a napkin and tossed it aside carelessly. Dedue couldn’t help but frown in response; in his experience, whoever owned this inn would be cleaning up after the troops cleared out, and they probably hadn’t volunteered for its use. “That evens out the numbers a bit. Wasn’t looking forward to facing this lot -- whoever they are -- with a civilian militia and two battalions.”

Dedue was more cautious. “What kind of reinforcements?”

Sylvain shrugged again. “King of Lions Corps, last I heard.”

Felix nodded in a flash of rare approval.

“ _ Just _ the Corps?” Dedue prodded.

Sylvain smiled. “Oh, how well you know our Dimitri. Now that you mention it … Gilbert was trying to talk him out of it, but I got the impression he was determined to invite himself along to the party. So there'll be  _ lots _ of reinforcements -- the Corps, the Royal Guard, Seteth and his men, and of course, a little-known warrior of no particular talent known as ‘His Majesty’...”

Felix sagged and hid his face in his hands. “You’ve  _ got _ to be kidding me,” he moaned. Sylvain patted him soothingly on the shoulder, but carefully, as if Felix was a cat that might lash out when petted. Felix swore at him but did not strike, too busy cursing Sylvain, the king, his queen, and anyone else he could think of. Dedue heard his own name but decided not to call attention to it.

Eventually, he wore himself out and simply sat in silence, face still hidden, fingers tangling restlessly in his hair. Sylvain excused himself to receive a message, and the silence took on a different quality.

Dedue waited. Felix finally looked up.

“Annette can cast a warp spell,” he said into the silence. His eye had sought out Annette from the other side of the room with unerring precision, as she peered over a map with a small contingent of mages hanging on her every word. He spoke softly, and without moving his lips, in case of ears or eyes on them, magical or otherwise. “But only enough for one person.”

Dedue nodded. He had suspected as much.

Felix grunted. “So if this turns into another Duscur massacre, the best we can do is magic one of the royal idiots away before the killing begins. Assuming we can make them go.” He bowed his head, staring down at his muddy boots. “Either way, I’m leaving the choice to you. I don’t want it.” He paused, a hint of a snarl creeping into his voice. “Don’t even  _ try _ to argue with me. Not about this.”

Dedue nodded again. This, he had also suspected. He couldn’t begrudge Felix’s choice; he had already lost his brother in the king’s service, and if such a decision came to pass, there would be no escape for Felix or Annette. Two more bodies to add to the pile.

There would be no escape for Ashe either, of course.

Dedue left Felix to his grim thoughts and sought out his husband for what time he could. The battle their queen had chosen for them all would arrive soon enough.

~

Dimitri questioned his abilities as a father frequently. Gustave and Nico, his closest advisors with children of their own, assured him that such doubts were normal. There were no Academy classes for parenting, they reminded him; everyone was making it up as they went along. And truthfully, for all his doubts, Dimitri did not feel completely at sea with his children  _ all _ of the time. Georgios and Lidia were young, but they were brave and strong, and unafraid to stand up and make sense of the world on their own terms. They certainly didn’t hesitate to argue or fight when things didn’t live up to their standards. Byleth was forever a reassuringly stolid presence at his side, treating their children with the same gravity and seriousness she treated everyone, a solemn regard that calmed them even at their most inarticulate or hysterical. For his part, Dimitri never hesitated to admit that he didn’t have all of the answers, even as he did his best to provide them with stability and unconditional warmth. When they wanted to talk, they sought out Byleth; when they wanted to cuddle, they sought out him. Most of the time he was rather proud of that.

Other times, Dimitri truly despaired.

It was close to Georgios’ bedtime when Dimitri got word that the warp spells were almost ready. He left his squire, Owin, to prepare his armor, and Nico to send word to the Guard, and Gustave to argue strategy with Captain Shanna. A dozen other important tasks beckoned to him, manifested as the dozen or so courtiers that were always around these days.

He ignored them. Instead, he went to the sitting room to fetch Georgios for bed.

He found the Crown Prince playing a board game with Flayn, a timer set up between them and two piles of cookies on a plate. As he watched, Flayn made a move that he was pretty certain was illegal, but Georgios only groaned as one of his pawns was taken. Victorious, Flayn moved one of the cookies from Georgios’ pile to her own. But her victory was short-won -- Georgios made a move of his own, also illegal, and claimed two of her pieces in return. Wistful and dismayed, Flayn watched two cookies disappear from her side of the plate.

Dimitri leaned against the doorframe and cleared his throat. “How much longer, you two?”

“Ten minutes!” Flayn promised.

Georgios eyed her side of the board. “More like five,” he said, and then yawned hugely.

“Well!” Flayn moved a piece and hit the timer vengefully. “We’ll see about that, won’t we? Time to wake up and get ready to lose, mister!”

Georgios giggled, and Dimitri chuckled. “All right, ten minutes max. Finish up quick, then it’s time for bed, little lord. Be nice and leave Flayn a cookie or two.”

Georgios grumbled at the mention of bedtime, but hunkered more intently to the game nonetheless. Flayn leaned forward watchfully.

Dimitri wandered over to the short couch he often shared with Byleth, when she was home. A familiar battered leather journal rested on his side table; with a glance at the nearby grandfather clock to mark the time, he took a temporary seat and flipped through the pages of Jeralt’s old diary.

_ I have found no tactics primers on being a parent, _ Gustave had said once, but unbeknownst to him, Dimitri had. Or at least, something like it. Jeralt had not written his journal with the intent of sharing its content, let alone using it as a receptacle of wisdom, and yet that was what DImitri had found in it. Byleth had shown it to him during their engagement, when they discussed children and their myriad hopes, dreams, and fears. Reading from her father’s diary often left her pensive, seeming to raise questions about her relationship with her father and the questions left unanswered between them.

Dimitri, on the other hand, found Jeralt’s scribbled passages reassuring. He had not known Jeralt well in life, considering him a friendly acquaintance at best, but he had come to rely on him after his death. Despite the doubts that still plagued Byleth occasionally, Jeralt had loved his daughter unreservedly, and understood her better than most. Perhaps he hadn’t expressed it well in life -- Dimitri could only defer to Byleth’s judgement in that matter -- but his love for her colored every word he had written. Perhaps Dimitri, who loved her just as much, was simply positioned best to see it.

And when Dimitri questioned his relationship with Georgios, confused or frustrated by his opaque moods and strange habits, it was Jeralt’s journal that reassured him. That reminded him to be patient with himself, thoughtful of his assumptions and his own scars, and to trust that Georgios, too, would understand him in turn -- if not now, than in time, as he grew into himself and the world. It plagued him, sometimes, to know that the day Georgios would need him most -- the hopefully far-off day on which he became King in truth -- was the one day that Dimitri could never support him through. But if the goddess was with them, Byleth could.

If the goddess was with them….

Dimitri sighed, rubbed his forehead, and hoped again that Byleth knew what she was doing. He would follow her into a thousand battles without question, but the thought of leaving their children orphaned terrorized him daily. But he trusted her. And surely she knew that to risk herself was to risk them both, and would only choose to engage an unknown enemy like this if she was sure they could win.

Dimitri paged through Jeralt’s journal idly, not looking for anything in particular, just letting the familiar script flow past. Georgios’s estimate of five minutes proved to be ambitious, but not by much: he eventually claimed victory over Flayn’s side of the board according to whatever strange rules the two had concocted, and Flayn relented with good humor. Georgios even shared his pile of victory cookies with her, and ‘generously’ offered Dimitri the almost biscuits, which Georgious and Byleth both despised.

“You don’t like them?” Flynn demanded, disbelieving. Georgios held one out to her, and she snapped it from his hand like a dog. He snickered around another yawn. “I’ll take them! I’ll take them all!”

“Not all of them,” Georgios protested calmly. “Leave some for Liddy and Mama.”

Dimitri straightened from his perch, setting Jeralt’s diary aside. “All right, little lord. Off to bed with you.”

Georgios sulked and dragged his feet, but was all for show. He bade Flayn goodnight and returned her hug with goodwill, and then trotted into the hallway to say goodnight to the guards. He left the plate of almond biscuits on the floor outside Lidia’s room and disappeared into his room, shouting ‘goodnight, Papa!’ as an afterthought.

Dimitri gave him some time and to change into his sleeping clothes and updated Flayn on the upcoming battle. She bounced on her heels at the news and darted off to find Seteth, face determined.

Dimitri leaned against the wall and knocked on his son’s door. “Georgios?”

“I’m in bed!” Georgios yelled hurriedly, followed by the thump of a small body hitting a feathered mattress.

Dimitri smiled. “May I come in?”

“Uh … sure.”

Dimitri let himself in. Georgios was busy wriggling his way beneath the heavy blankets without kicking his stuffed animals overboard, a nightly ritual. He looked up questioningly as Dimitri came to sit at his side. “I’m not hiding a book, I promise.”

Dimitri shook his head, still smiling. “You aren’t in trouble, son.”

“Oh.” Georgios paused. He shifted topics immediately. “When will Mama be home? Tomorrow? Can we visit the puppies?”

“Hopefully she’ll be back by morning.” Dimitri hesitated, the indecision from earlier arising in him again -- even Jeralt’s familiar handwriting hadn’t soothed it completely -- and then made a quick decision. “I’m going out tonight to meet her, so we may yet be abed when you wake. But you can come fetch us if needed.”

Georgios frowned, seeming to sense his unease immediately. Some of the sleepiness in his face evaporated. “Is there to be a battle?” he demanded.

Dimitri gave him a steady nod. “Very likely, yes.”

His son’s frown deepened, brow pinching. “Will Uncle Dedue be there?”

“Yes, of course.”

Georgios flopped back into his pillows. “And Uncle Ashe? And Aunt Ingrid?”

“Yes, and yes,” Dimitri promised. “Felix and Annette, too. And Sylvain, and Dorothea, and Mercedes, and lots of other people, too.”

Georgios began to look alarmed. “Is it going to be a  _ big _ battle?” he demanded.

“Not with that lot around,” Dimitri promised, and Georgios smirked. He looked exactly like his mother like that, and only wrinkled his nose a little as Dimitri leaned forward to kiss his forehead.

“It will likely be noisy and messy and tiring,” Dimiti said, all of which was the truth. “But not much more than that.” Which was something less certain but no less hoped for; he hoped his son couldn’t tell the difference.

Georgios nodded trustingly. “Okay, Papa. Can I wake you up for lunch? If you aren’t up by then? And then we can visit the puppies?”

“I would appreciate that,” Dimitri said sincerely. “And your mother will be sorely happy to see you, and irritable if she sleeps the day away.” He smoothed his son’s dark hair from his face. “Will you go to sleep right away? Not stay up reading too late?”

Reminded, Georgios yawned. “Yes. I’m really sleepy. I almost fell asleep when playing Dragon Chess with Flayn, I’m really tired for some reason. I don’t know why.”

“Is that what that game is called? Dragon Chess?” Dimitri asked. Georgios grinned. “All right, then, little lord. Sleep well.” He adjusted the blanket, made sure his magic nightlight was in place, and gave him a last kiss on the forehead before blowing out the candles and seeing himself out.

Lidia was already fast asleep, of course, and so Dimitri contented himself with a kiss to her forehead and a moment to absorb her rare peace. When he let himself back into the hallway, Owin was waiting with Areadbhar in hand.

“Your armor is ready, Your Majesty,” he said, bowing.

Dimitri ruffled his hair, and accepted his father’s old lance. “Very well then, lad. Let’s get ready to go.”


End file.
